by Ida Ekblad

Extracted from the strong smelling asphalt froth
A deep red female scale insect
Ho, yes, ho!
The lips of her ship is moldy
The dosh in her pocket is gone
Since roving`s been her ruin
Oh aye, oh
The stairs are sleep inducing
Way, hay up, steady she goes
The chimes of bells she faintly hears
be all ears – Be ALL ears
Then cast her mind in the stream
with fusticwood shavings and soot colored tears
kut-kut-kut hissed the vacuum
Beep beep! purred the dusty chimes of chrome
Oh poor old horse
is buried in sand
All dat done
has drifted from land

- Ida Ekblad